


Will you have this dance?

by Thornofthelily



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akira has a Palace, Dancing, Dancing of various kinds, Fluff, Happy Ending, I don't know if I'm actually funny, M/M, Maybe humor?, References to Depression, abusing the thieves' den concept, kind of, kiss, some sad feelings about Akechi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornofthelily/pseuds/Thornofthelily
Summary: “Man, where have you been!” Futaba nearly shouts in horror.Akira scans the room slowly, big wide dark eyes drinking in the worried faces of his closest friends. Haru by his bedside, Makoto hovering just behind. Futaba fiddling with her hands, worried for her sibling-surrogate and key item. Ryuji quietly eying the various memorabilia on his walls and shelves Akira long stopped caring about. They aren’t his souvenirs or dolls from Tokyo. They aren’t like the glove in his nightstand. Everyone fills out his small room so completely, bringing life and joy to the empty place he’d been languishing. Or, they should have. But they all look upset. Scared, even. They didn't look like this last time he saw them. They were so happy back when… when he visited… “Where else would I be? I was in the Den.”
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 7
Kudos: 142
Collections: 21 plus akeshuake server valentines 2021 event





	Will you have this dance?

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for Akira's Palace came from [Ecto](https://twitter.com/ectochoirnsfw?s=20) and [Moth](https://twitter.com/prettyboylatte?s=20) on Twitter! (Note that their accounts are both 18+). I hope I did the concept at least a little bit of justice! Thank you for letting me run with it <3  
> \-----------  
> For the 21 plus Akeshuake server Valentine's Day event, White Chocolate day!  
> Flavor: Fluff  
> Chocolate Coating: Happy End  
> Garnish: Dancing

It’s February 4th, and Akira isn’t okay. That’s to be expected. When they changed Maruki’s heart and made the world right again, Joker woke up in prison. And though the Phantom Thieves did everything they could to get him out, he’s not a free man again until the 13th. They want to throw him a party to celebrate, have a nice Valentine’s Day hangout with him the following day, but Akira waves them off, saying he’s still recovering.

And that’s fine. Everyone knows he’ll need some time to adjust. Because even though they won, there’s still some things Akira hasn’t gotten back. Like...

Akechi. He vanished after Maruki’s Palace. None of the Thieves know why, but Ryuji’s grumbling theory assumes he went “off the grid” to avoid persecution for his crimes. It doesn’t leave the best parting impression of the Detective Prince among the group. But the general vibe around Akira after he returns is _don’t talk about it._ Akira’s always been quiet, but after February, he’s even more so. He rarely texts back during school, citing all the catching up he has to do with his studies. He’s been in the Go Home club all year, but even after school, he doesn’t hang out with anyone. Says there’s more homework, or Sojiro needs him at the cafe, even though Sojiro confirms to Futaba he’s not making Akira work too hard or anything.

Still, that’s fine. Akira’s been through a lot! Maybe more than all of them. So they give him some time to recover and acclimate to his new civilian, thievery-free life.

By White Day, though, he’s still not any better. Everyone’s a little worried at how _especially_ quiet and _especially_ distant he is when he’s scheduled to go back home on March 20th. Morgana promises he’ll keep a close eye on him, and he’ll message everyone with updates. No one but Yusuke questions how he’ll work the phone, or even use it without Akira’s knowledge and help.

They all disperse like dandelion seeds, focusing on their own lives. Makoto and Haru move out, go to the same college. Ryuji, Ann, and Yusuke focus on their rigorous final year and exams. Futaba starts high school, and Sumire really kicks up her gymnastics to the next level. They all hear from Akira in fits and bursts, and that’s enough for a while.

They don’t hear from Akira for all of November. Or December.

By January, Ann gets worried and calls him a dozen times in one day. The thirteenth call is finally answered, by Morgana, who says he couldn’t figure out how to get his paws to track on the screen to swipe the green button.

“Morgana, you said you’d look out for him!” She chastises.

“I have been!” He complains back, thrashing his tail anxiously even though she can’t see it. “He’s… fine, he’s just…”

“He hasn’t answered any of our calls, or texts! We were going to meet up again for New Year’s, and he hasn’t said a word.”

“He’s going through a lot right now, I think.”

“Where is he?”

Morgana looks over his shoulder at the piled-up lumps of blankets and pillows that have been concealing Akira in his bed for the last several hours. “Taking a nap.” He thinks. 

“A nap? It’s two in the afternoon! On a Saturday! Even Akira doesn’t sleep that much.”

“Well, he _has_ been. A lot more, actually. He won’t see a doctor and says he’s not sick, but…”

Ann’s glad she made the decision to call instead of Ryuji. Sometimes, he can be really brilliant at reading people, but she doesn’t think he’d handle this with any amount of grace or delicacy. Akira reminds her of herself, right before they took down Kamoshida. The depression, the helplessness, inability to get up and do anything. It unsettles her stomach. “Do you think he’s up for traveling?”

Morgana looks back at Akira. He might have been worried about him overhearing this conversation, but the not-a-cat overstated Akira’s well-being earlier. He doesn’t think he’s fine. He’s been so listless and out of it for two months now, so deeply buried under blankets and exhaustion he doubts he heard a word. He’s been missing lots of class, too, but Lady Ann doesn’t need to know that. “I don’t think so. His parents are coming down kind of hard on him, too, and that’s not helping much.”

Ann twirls one pigtail, anxiety creeping in her stomach. She had been hoping Akira was just busy, or making some other friends, joined a club or something. Nothing prepared her Akira to be _this_ bad. “Okay. I’ll get the group together and see if we can visit for New Year’s, before school starts back. Do you think that’s okay?”

Akira still hasn’t moved. Morgana sighs. “I don’t know what’s okay anymore, Lady Ann.”

* * *

It’s not easy, with Makoto all worried about some issue with her apartment, Haru’s balancing act between school and managing a multimillion yen company, Ann’s growing modeling career, and Yusuke’s flightiness, but the Phantom Thieves meet up at Leblanc early to board a train to Akira’s hometown. Sumire, fortunately, still has the address, apparently the only one with the foresight to get it before Akira's last day in Tokyo. On the ride over, they joke and laugh and catch up in person for the first time in ages, but the atmosphere remains disquiet as everyone silently reflects on what brought them together in the first place: Akira. How it’s been almost a year, and if anything, he’s gotten worse.

No one wants to talk about it first, except for Ryuji. He finally breaks, completely sidelining a conversation Futaba and Yusuke were having about the dichotomy of edibility versus aesthetics of various sea creatures, to loudly gripe, “Man, I wonder what’s been bugging Akira so bad! He’s actin’ so effin’ weird!”

There’s silence in their train compartment, broken only when Ann smacks his shoulder and snaps “Ryuji!” No one meets anyone else's gaze.

“Whaaat! Everyone’s already thinkin’ it!”

“I’ve been worried about Senpai for a long time, too,” Sumire says, wringing her hands anxiously. “It’s not like him to be out of communication so long.”

“His internet searches and GPS locations have all been really boring, too,” Futaba adds, like this is perfectly normal and acceptable information to have. “He barely goes anywhere, online or offline.”

“That seems so unlike him,” Haru breaks in. She had been trying to distract Makoto with a game of Othello, the board now forgotten and untouched on her lap. “He used to frequent many places in Tokyo, and had so many connections. Hasn’t he made any friends back home?”

“I imagine it might be tough, if people back home still view him as a criminal.” Yusuke contributes sagely. He continues sketching the lionfish in his notebook, not having forgotten the argument with Futaba, but well, inspiration struck him. “After all, the original inciting incident and arrest occurred back there.”

“Even with his record expunged and no criminal history, you can’t change the minds of the public.” Makoto’s voice rings soft and sad in the train’s artificially warmed air. Haru places her hand over her girlfriend's, leaning in closer to offer what comfort she can. 

“Well not anymore we can’t!” Ryuji tries to change the somber tone with a big grin. “But remember what we could do as Phantom Thieves? If only we could go back to changing the public’s cognition again! Maybe that’s what’s bumming Akira out!”

“Ryuji,” Ann grumbles again, elbowing him in the ribs. “Even if we still had the MetaNav, would we really use our power for something so petty as to cheer Akira up?”

“Why not? We did it with Futaba!”

The hacker scoffs. She leans over Yusuke and breathes against his ear, trying and failing to startle him into messing up his sketch. “What, is _that_ how you think of curing my crippling agoraphobia? Just ‘cheering me up’?”

“Enough,” Makoto sighs, exasperated, squeezing Haru's hand. “We’re getting nowhere like this. We just have to talk to Akira and find out what’s going on, make sure he’s okay. It’s pointless to argue over how we’d use powers we don’t have anymore.”

The conversation lulls back into quiet, awkward, but safe territory, Yusuke picks back up his point that sea urchins don’t even _look_ edible so _clearly_ they are meant for visual appreciation only, as evidenced by the beauty and deadliness of the lionfish. None of them glance at their phones to see a small icon installing itself onto each of their devices.

* * *

It’s January 1st, and Akira is _absolutely_ not okay.

He hasn’t gotten a haircut for months, and his already messy hair has devolved into a rat’s nest of tangles, fluffing around his head like a knotted dark halo and further obscuring his eyes, already hidden behind his glasses. His parents weren’t totally thrilled about the sudden gaggle of teens appearing on their doorstep unannounced on a holiday, but Makoto and Haru were able to sweet talk them into opening their door to the group, quickly heading up to Akira’s room. Even though it’s well past morning, Akira is still in bed. Morgana tells them he hasn’t gotten up all day.

Sitting up, tangled in pajamas hanging off his thin frame and way too many blankets, Akira no longer looks like the suave, cool leader of the Phantom Thieves. He looks like a kid, lost and alone.

“Huh? Why’s everyone…”

“They’re worried about you!” Morgana sits up, leaning his front paws on his shoulder. “You’ve been out of it since November!”

“November?” Akira blinks, slow and sleepy and confused. “Wait, what day is it…?”

“Dude!” Ryuji exclaims, eyes about to pop out of his head. “For real?”

“Senpai, it’s New Year’s Day.”

“New Year’s?” He squints, thinking. “2017?”

“Akira,” Haru explains with infinite patience. She kneels next to Akira's bed, like she's speaking to a startled child. “It’s 2018.”

His blank looks registers no awareness.

“Man, where have you been!” Futaba nearly shouts in horror.

He scans the room slowly, big wide dark eyes drinking in the worried faces of his closest friends. Haru by his bedside, Makoto hovering just behind. Futaba fiddling with her hands, worried for her sibling-surrogate and key item. Ryuji quietly eyeing the various memorabilia on his walls and shelves Akira long stopped caring about. They aren’t his souvenirs or dolls from Tokyo. They aren’t like the glove in his nightstand. Everyone fills out his small room so completely, bringing life and joy to the empty place he’d been languishing. Or, they should have. But they all look upset. Scared, even. They didn't look like this last time he saw them. They were so happy back when… when he visited… “Where else would I be? I was in the Den.”

Everyone shares a look of mute horror.

“Your… what?”

Akira blinks, too slowly. “You’re all there, too. Have you… not been? You don’t have one?”

Morgana lashes his tail anxiously. “Akira… what are you talking about? I've been with you all year and you don't go anywhere but school and home.”

“It's just… my Den,” he repeats, unhelpful. His face screws up with confusion. “I don't know how else to explain it.”

“But it’s not some place you physically go?” Ann broaches. 

Akira's face twists up further until it's almost unrecognizable. “No, it's… I don't actually _go_ anywhere. It's like the Velvet Room I think? Like, when I used to visit, everyone just saw me standing around, spaced out. I think it’s like that. Except I just close my eyes, and… I'm there.”

Silence. No one speaks, moves, or even breathes. Futaba pulls out her phone, typing on the little screen furiously. She breaks the razor-wire tension with a sudden squeal. “No way!! Everyone, check your phones!”

Everyone except Akira pulls out their smartphones, gasps rippling through the group. 

“For real?!”

“Oh my!”

“What could this mean…?”

An app on their home screens, unfamiliar to each of them and yet eerily nostalgic. A white square background, with a stylized eye. But instead of the starburst pattern of the original MetaNav, this one has dark black, accentuated eyelashes. Like Joker’s mask. 

Everyone stares at each other. “Senpai…” Sumire begins, taking a hesitant step forward. “Does this mean… you have a Palace?” 

“But the Metaverse doesn't exist anymore.” The flatness of his voice registers as fear. He seems to curl deeper into his bed, pulling a blanket tight around his shoulders.

“And yet,” Yusuke muses, considering the new, “the app has returned.” 

“It's not the same,” Futaba says in a flurry, her eyes not having left her screen. “It's different. No keywords. No location requirements. Wherever this leads, we can go in anywhere, any time.”

“Is this what he meant by his 'Den'?” Makoto thinks out loud, speaking as though Akira isn't even in the room. “He said he could go in anywhere.”

“Well let's try it!” Ryuji declares, pressing the _navigate_ button to the annoyed yells of the rest of the Thieves.

Akira's room fades away into swirls of blacks and whites, trapping all the Thieves in dizzying monochrome for several nauseating moments before the white overtakes the black, blinding them all before fading out and revealing… 

Leblanc. The familiar doors of the cafe stand humble and confident in front of the group. Up and down and all around, it's an exact replica of Yongen. Here, it's night, the sky dark and dotted by stars. The light from the window illuminates them in a warm golden light. They're standing exactly as they had been, positioned around a bed that isn't there. An _Akira_ who isn't there.

Except… there is. Standing in front of the doors, behind a podium like a maitre d', is another Akira. Before anyone can ask why he’s there, like this, dressed in a full black suit and bow tie, his golden eyes cut through the group. 

"Welcome," he greets them all with a small smile. "To the Thieves' Den."

The group shares a collective look of confusion, then concern, realizing Akira- the real Akira, sitting confused and alone in his bed- is nowhere to be found. And Morgana, shockingly, still looks like a cat. No one, in fact, is dressed in their Metaverse thief clothes. 

“Is this truly the Metaverse…?” Yusuke murmurs, fingers itching for a sketchpad he does not have. His clever artistic eye scans up and down the building's facade, fingers framing each scene, scoping out the picture-perfect replica of Akira's old home. “It looks just like the real thing… If this is Akira's Palace…”

“Not a Palace,” yellow-eyed Akira interrupts sweetly. “As I said. It is the Den.”

“Are you going to fight us?” Makoto asks, steely-eyed. She takes an aggressive step forward to the golden-eyed Shadow, but he just laughs. 

“Of course not! Why would I fight my friends?” He flips open the book on top of the podium, scrolling down the page with one finger. “You're all guests here, and just in time for the masquerade, as well.”

“A masquerade?” Haru repeats, leaning in earnest towards the window. But strangely, she can't see through the window inside- nothing but soft sunny light streaming through while remaining completely opaque. “I fear we're not properly dressed for the occasion.”

“But you are!” The fake Akira exclaims joyfully. “In fact, you're already inside!”

“What does _that_ mean?” Ann asks. “What is going on?”

Futaba hadn't stopped looking at her phone, even after they were teleported away from Akira's room. “Man, I really miss Al Azif right about now…” she murmurs. “I can't get a good read on this place, but checking into this new app, it seems it transported us somewhere like the Metaverse, but not? I don't detect any enemies or a Treasure, but this is definitely some kind of Shadow world. Is he a bonus level…?” She trails off, murmuring to herself about secret rooms and one-ups.

Eyes slowly fall on Makoto, as the default brains of the group. “Well, Queen?” Ryuji has a cocksure grin. “What do you say?”

Standing up just a little taller at her codename, Makoto takes charge in lieu of their absent leader. “Let's go inside, see what he's talking about. That is,” she cuts her burning gaze to the Shadowy host. “As long as _someone_ is being honest.” 

Fake Akira just laughs. “Of course I am, Makoto. I promise, nothing here is dangerous. You know I'd do anything for my friends.”

Something about the last phrase settles ominous and incongruent in the group's collective cognition. Regardless, they open the door to the cafe and pile inside. 

… where it's _nothing_ like the real Leblanc. The color scheme and style remains, but instead of a cafe, they walk into a ballroom. There’s a small bartop to the right of the room, and the smell of coffee and curry spice pervades, but otherwise the room is a massive open space, with a wooden floor and luscious red curtains hanging from the walls. There's couples in masks twirling up and down the room, dressed in various finery but also, sometimes, wildly contradictory clothes. 

Yusuke holds up his hands to frame this scene, as well. “Such elegance,” he murmurs, already getting lost. “How regal!”

“Wait!” Sumire exclaims, adjusting her glasses. “Do you notice something odd about this place?”

“You just noticed?” Ryuji groans, clearly uncomfortable and out of place. He jams his hands in the pockets of his 777 hoodie and pretends to kick a rock. “The whole freaking thing is weird!”

“No, I think I see it…” Makoto murmurs, holding her chin and examining the couples. “They're… all Akira!”

She's half right. One member of each couple is Akira, in a different outfit, a different dance style, but the hair, the height, the body are the same throughout. And his partners… 

“They're us,” Ann whispers, a chasm of emotion cracking her voice. 

Again, Ann is partly right. There's a copy of each of the Phantom Thieves throughout the room, dancing with Akira in various ways. Or, well, “dancing.” One the Akiras is jogging around the perimeter of the floor with a Ryuji clone, who wears his Skull mask with a Shujin PE uniform hanging off his lean body. Akira always lags a few paces just behind, wearing a mask just like his own face, but smiling, blank, unchanging. 

But they don't recognize all the dancing pairs. In one far corner of the room, Akira dances on an arcade panel that lights up with arrows, next to a young boy. And the boy seems to be winning. Somewhere else, Akira dances in complex kicks and jumps and spins around… the owner of the airsoft shop? It looks less like a dance and more like a choreographed fight scene, where they barely miss hitting each other.

“Are these all… Akira's Shadows?” Morgana can't believe his eyes. “I didn't know you could have more than one!”

“Who are all these people?” Sumire wonders, watching as an Akira clone dances around someone wearing _her_ performance leotard. “His friends from Tokyo?”

“I recognize some of them,” Morgana murmurs, carefully padding around the floor. None of the pairs look at or acknowledge them, lost in their own world. Every Akira wears a parodic mask of his own face, blissful, smiling, unchanging, and each of his partners barely even look at him, absorbed by whatever task they are performing for or with him. “He would meet with all of these people for various things around Tokyo. They were his confidants.” He spots Kawakami, except this time Akira is the one massaging her shoulders, supporting her in a strangely close dance. She’s still wearing her maid outfit, a thin black lace mask barely concealing her eyes. Morgana hopes no one recognizes the teacher, for her sake. 

“My, how unusual,” Haru remarks, watching as an Akira lifts her own double dressed in ballet flats and a tutu, lifting her and tossing her in the air over and over again. “Not all of these are dances, necessarily, but of the styles I recognize, Akira is never the lead.”

“What’s that mean?” Ryuji asks, tearing his eyes away from Akira doing a sultry piece with the goth doctor from Yongen. 

“In many dance styles, one person acts as the lead, and the other follows. Sometimes referred to as the ‘man’s part’ and the ‘woman’s part’, but those terms are falling out of style. The lead is the one who would initiate various moves - a spin, a twirl, a dip - and the follower has to respond to it. And yet, our Leader leads none of these dances.”

“So… what does that mean for Akira?” Ann asks, glancing around at the dozens of masked Akiras, faces frozen in bliss. 

“Someone is missing,” Yusuke remarks sharply. His eyes flit around the room, taking in every pair, before his face contorts with pain. 

“All the Phantom Thieves are represented,” Makoto says.

“And everyone he visited throughout Tokyo!” Morgana confirms. 

Yusuke shakes his head, looking back at his friends. A shadow darkens his inscrutable features. “There’s one more we’re forgetting. Someone Akira clearly wouldn’t forget, and likely the reason he’s been in such a foul mood for this season.”

Futaba breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Akechi.”

Sure enough, none of the dancing pairs feature anyone with a resemblance to either the Detective Prince or the Black Mask. Only Akira and his living friends and cohorts, smiling, lost in their own worlds. 

“They were close, weren’t they?” Sumire dares to venture. “I wasn’t there for… most of it. But I saw them, early in 2017, in Dr. Maruki’s new reality. They had a… a strange rapport, for sure, but Senpai always seemed like he enjoyed Akechi-san’s presence.”

Makoto shakes her head. “I’m not sure. He never talked about Akechi much, after everything happened. But standing around speculating isn’t getting us anywhere. We need to determine if Akira travelled with us to this Den of his, and if there’s a way we can help him out here. I think we can split up; it seems safe enough, for now.”

They all agree, dispersing into the crowds to interrogate the various Shadows and cognitions, starting with their doubles. And even though they’re not hostile, they don’t get much out of them. Every Akira they try to engage in conversation remains quiet, speaking only vague words of encouragement and support, but any attempt to get him to talk about himself results in a blank, silent smile. And their doppelgangers are even worse, refusing to talk about anything _but_ their own problems. And it’s the same when they branch out to the others - Toranosuke Yoshida goes on and on about the plight of young people in Japan and the need for political reform, but he says nothing about the Akira moving right along with him, caught up in their own whirling, fast-paced heel-kicking dance. Even Mishima Yuuki, who never stops talking about the Phantom Thieves, doesn’t really engage them in conversation, and his Akira is the most useless of them all.

Exasperated, they all regroup to confront the last remaining couple, the pair that everyone felt too uncomfortable to approach individually: Maruki. 

And this time, they have some inkling of hope. This Akira isn’t wearing a smiling face. The mask instead looks pensive, contemplative, just a shade of color off from being completely blank. And Maruki moved gently, carefully, leading Akira just like the others, but not spinning him around all over like Makoto, not making him do crazy poses like Yusuke or meme dances like Futaba. And he’s the first whose eyes flicker in recognition when they approach. “Ah,” he sounds only a little surprised. “It’s you!”

“Hey, Doc,” Ryuji starts, guarded and wary. “You uh, wouldn’t happen to know anything about this place and what’s going on, would ya?”

He smiles, sweet and saccharine. “You’re in Akira’s Den, aren’t you?” Everyone jumps a little at that. None of the other cognitions showed any interest or awareness of this place.

“I’m afraid we still don’t entirely know what that means,” Haru answers.

Maruki nods, placing his hands over his Akira’s shoulders and directing them both to a slow, easy sway, like grade schoolers at a first dance. Chaste and simple enough that he can focus on their conversation. “Well, as Akira’s cognition of Maruki, I think I am well-suited to answer questions about the Metaverse and his own psyche, I suppose.” Maruki chuckles in contrition to the little gasps rippling towards him. “Yes, I am aware of what I am. I suppose Akira’s perception of me is fair enough that he grants me cognizance of my own circumstances in this place. Despite the close bonds of friendship he has with everyone else here, they tend to be lost in their own worlds.”

Morgana jumps onto Futaba’s shoulder, startling her, but she allows him to crawl in her arms so he can talk to Maruki from a higher elevation than the floor. “So is this the Metaverse?”

Maruki hums, closing his eyes in thought. “I don’t believe so. Not entirely? There are… many layers to reality, and while this one isn’t sunken quite to the same depths as the Metaverse, it is certainly not reality as you understand it.”

Confusion. But that’s a better answer than they’ve gotten out of this whole affair, so they press on. This time, Yusuke speaks. “I fear I may already know the answer to this one, based on the interactions I have seen. But I can’t help but wonder: why is Akira’s Shadow split into so many forms? Why are his interactions with these cognitions so...”

“One-sided?” Maruki finishes carefully when Yusuke’s dangling sentence lingers unhappily in the air. Some people shift anxiously - Sumire, especially, is wringing her hands and contorting her face into all kinds of knots. “Well… that may be how Akira perceives these relationships. One where he is happy, or at least, wants to make himself look happy. One where he supports and cares for his friends, and selflessly doesn’t ask for anything in return. He’s in all these pieces because he feels like he has to be a different person for everyone. A Shadow is the true reflection of the self. And Akira feels like he has no true self; rather, a different one for each person he meets.”

“But that’s -” Ann breaks in, hurt and a little angry. “We never asked him to do that for us!”

“Didn’t you?” Maruki’s voice drops low and quiet. “You each sought his help for something, didn’t you? Advice, assistance, even just a comforting ear to listen to. And there’s nothing wrong with that! Friendships are full of these types of gives and takes. You support each other when times are tough. But Akira… doesn’t seem to think he’s allowed to ask for anything in return. Like maybe people won’t accept him, unless he is perfectly selfless and good, at all times.”

No one has a rebuttal to that. Their eyes drag slowly back across the dance floor. Akira, smiling, forever smiling, bending to the whims and wishes of his confidants, appeasing them in whatever manner he thought necessary. Desperately wanting acceptance, for someone to want him around.

“But there’s someone missing, isn’t there, Dr. Maruki?” Sumire’s voice is so soft and sad, it’s barely audible. Maruki looks away, hands on Akira’s shoulders tightening slightly. 

“You’re right,” he admits. “I think it’s time the Prince makes his appearance.”

Before they can ask, the golden warm lights of the fake Leblanc fade away, and the dancing pairs all shift to the sides, cutting an empty swath across the floor. A spotlight clicks on somewhere from the darkness above, illuminating one of the red curtains on the far wall. When they part, they reveal a staircase, leading high up to a balcony, upon which stands yet one more Akira. This one is dressed in his classic Joker outfit: black coat, red gloves, gray vest. Yet his face is completely unmasked, bare, eyes a gleaming bright yellow. And by his side… a Black Masked figure, clawed gauntlets and red eyes and sharp angles.

Akira and Akechi, because of course it’s Akechi, why _wouldn’t_ it be Akechi, take each other by the hand. Akira has the biggest, truest, dopiest smile on his face, and though Akechi’s face can’t be seen, they walk, step by step, hand-in-gauntlet, down the grand staircase to the main floor. And when a song kicks up, something fast and jazzy and upbeat, they move into action. A flurry of motion, fast and unpredictable and wild, but neither of them lead. Neither of them follow, it’s a furious flash of kicks and jumps, like they’re trying to outdo each other, win over the other. And the whole time, Akira laughs, breathless and joyful, his eyes fixed on nothing, no one, but Akechi. 

“Is this really how Akira thinks of him?” Futaba asks, bewildered, with her hand over her mouth. 

“Could he really only show his true face… to his enemy?” Yusuke wonders.. 

Makoto’s jaw clenches tight, blinking fast and hard, and Haru wraps her arms around her and pulls her in tight. They stand in silence as the couple dance and sway, no music but moving to a beat all their own. Their styles shift constantly, from mock-fighting, to tango, to ballroom, to swing, the only constant being the speed at which they move, the synchronicity in their every fiber. Wildcards, unpredictable, yet both perfectly aligned in their chaotic instability. Perfect compliments. Partners. 

“Akira really… and Akechi...” Ryuji clenches his fists tight at his side.

“And Akechi _what_?” A curt voice snaps from nearby, and everyone jumps. Futaba squeals and throws Morgana to the ground. 

“Akechi?!” All voices screech as one. 

In the darkness, just a few meters away, hidden perfectly in the shadows where the edges of the spotlight refuse to touch, stands Akechi Goro himself. Dressed just as he did a year ago in his expensive brown coat and green checkered scarf, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes glint like dull garnets in the low light, reddish and deep and not yellow at all. 

“Wait, this c-can't be real, can it?” Futaba shivers, ducking behind Yusuke if only for the cover afforded by his height. “What if it’s a ghost?”

“I assure you, I am very real,” Akechi answers, sounding bored, like he'd been here all along and not like he just returned after being dead a year.

“How did you find us here?” Makoto barks defensively. 

“Please,” Akechi rolls his eyes. “Of course I made it my business to know if the Phantom Thieves ever got back together. I tracked your cellphone signals.” Futaba started to yell indignantly about all the protections she installed on everyone’s phones, but Akechi waves them off. “Some of you still keep your GPS locations on.”

“Ann,” Futaba hisses, remembering how just last week she got on her case about all the location tags and check-ins she’s been posting to her Instagram. Ann gives a little apologetic wave and a tight grin. 

“Anyway. I followed you all the way to his house, though I stayed outside. I couldn’t hear what was going on, but I did notice a new app on my phone that closely resembled the MetaNav. I activated it, and ended up here. Only to see… this.” He eyes the spirited display before them, finally reaching its conclusion as Joker and Black Mask hold each tight, red gloves cradling a wicked sharp beak.

“You shouldn’t be here!” Morgana decides, hackles standing up. 

“Why not? You’re here, aren’t you?” Akechi throws his gaze wide, taking in all the Akira clones and confidants now applauding the performance. “And… if I’m reading the room correctly. It seems none of you have ever seen Joker’s true face, have you? It seems of everyone here, I am the one who knows him best.”

“Why you…!” Ryuji surges forward, stopped only by Ann’s hand on his elbow. 

“If you know him so well,” she snaps, “then did you know he’s been a mess since we fixed reality? Because of _you?_ ”

Akechi quickly looks away. “I don’t see what that possibly has to do with-”

“He thinks you're dead!” She continues, growing louder and more confident as she senses she hit the mark. “He thinks he killed you all over again, and ever since November he’s been-” 

“November?” He asks with pointed interest, whipping back around. “He’s been like this since…” the muscles in his jaws flex. His eyes harden. “I see.” He’s staring at the unbridled joy in Joker’s face, staring up at Black Mask. The way the claws clutch at the back of his coat. Takes a deep, steadying breath. “Well then. I think we should head back now.”

“What?!” Ryuji yells. “But we haven't even figured out how to help Akira!” Sumire pats Ryuji on the back, smiling careful and soft. 

“I think we have everything we need, actually.” She smiles fondly at Akechi, who just scoffs and squares his shoulders. 

They head outside, back to the eternal twilight of the fake Yongen. “All together then?” Makoto asks, checking over the group. “Here we go…”

The scene fades out in spiraling blacks and whites again, and when their vision resolves back to normal, they’re all back in Akira”s bedroom. _Everyone._

Akira sits up right away, the blankets falling away and his too-big shirt slipping off his shoulder. “Akechi? Wait, why are… how are…”

Akechi rolls his eyes. “Please, Akira. Is this what my rival has been up to since defeating two would-be gods?” He pushes his way through the group with minimal resistance. Grabbing the front collar of his shirt, he pulls Akira to his knees on the bed until they are almost equal. Though the Thieves surge to his protection, Akira stills them with a raised hand. 

“Akechi… I thought you were…”

Akechi’s eyes glint. “I’m disappointed you think so little of me. Although… based on what I saw in that place…” Akira’s face reddens quickly. He’s seen the true face of his own inner fantasy world, a place he’d gone to hide and be with Akechi in the only way he knew how. A little solipsistic daydreaming. “You seem to think about me _a lot_ , don’t you?”

Akira places his hand over the one tangled in his shirt. “But you're here now…” he tries, swallowing past scratchy tears building in his throat. “You’re… really alive?”

In a strange show of tenderness, Akechi takes hold of Akira's hand, placing it over his heart. “It’s beating, isn't it? Is that good enough for you?”

Just like in the Den, Akira’s eyes narrow down to only Akechi, like he doesn't see his small room crowded full of his closest friends. Akechi fills his vision, his whole world. Both hands slip around Akechi’s neck, and his lips find Akechi’s and meet without resistance or even a note of surprise from his rival. 

Chaos erupts around them. Sumire applauds and congratulates them, with Yusuke joining shortly after. Ann and Futaba squeal, the former with excitement and the latter, embarrassment. Haru and Makoto just stare in shock. Ryuji faints, and Morgana jumps on his chest and tries to fan him with a tiny paw. 

When Akira pulls away, his eyes are brighter and more vibrant than they’ve been in months, a Joker grin on his face. “I’ll keep my promise,” Akira whispers against his mouth, unheard by anyone in the din except for his precious rival. “Will you keep yours?”

“And lose to you again? I think not, Akira.” When Akechi kisses him again, the room explodes with such raucous shouts and screams that even Sojiro, far away at Leblanc, back in Tokyo, must have heard them. 


End file.
